Where The Wind Blows
by idroppedmypillow
Summary: Santana and her brother Mychal have been sent to the Pierce family farm in 1930. Santana fall head over heels for the innocent farm girl Brittany. There love must withstand the negativity from others and the harsh dirt-filled winds of the infamous Dust Bowl. A/U
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This is the first fanfiction I've ever written, so please leave me constructive criticism. This idea came to me while day dreaming in history class when we were learning about the dust bowl. Enjoy.**

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Chapter 1

"Wow, I didn't realise that taking care of a couple stupid stinking animals would be such hard work," Santana groaned. She walked across to the pigs' trough and filled it to the brim with the leftover scraps of dinner. The pigs came trotting towards their food, one knocking Santana out of its way and into a mud puddle. Mud splashed on her face and body. "I can't wait 'till winter when we get to eat y'all", she snapped back at the pig that shoved her. He ignored her as he noisily slurped away his slop. Santana huffed and blew the hair from her face. It was an especially hot day on the Pierce farm up in the panhandle of Texas.

She and her brother Mychal had been sent to be farmhands to the Pierces because their father couldn't hold a steady job. Sweat constantly formed in beads at the top of her head. Her clothes stuck to her skin like paste with the moisture exiting her pores. She trudged over to the two room cabin for her and her brother. She let slop bucket in her hand fall to the ground with a clang outside the cabin door. She then proceeded to her personal space where she stripped off her mud and sweat stained working clothes and pulled on a light-weight pink nightgown that her mother had made for her. Santana detested the color, but wore it because it gave her a sense of familiarity.

Santana liked familiar things. Most familiar things. She like seeing her mother's face every morning and the way she hugged her and always made her feel like she was important. Some things she wished never existed, like her father, George, and his infinite hatred towards her. He always treated her like less of a person than her brother, Mychal. Mychal was strong, burly, hard-working, and obedient. Santana was weaker, smaller, stubborn, and unplanned. He always rewarded Mychal for completing even the most remedial tasks. Santana worked hard too, but he couldn't care less about what Santana did or didn't do. Santana especially worked diligently in school. She made it to the top of her class, before she was forced to quit school to become a farm hand, so her father could sit on his lazy ass all day and still receive money.

It was true that Santana felt jealousy towards the praise Mychal received from their father, but she never hated him. Mychal spent many hours of quality time with Santana, strengthening their bond as brother and sister. Mychal was the single most important person to Santana, and Santana to him. They often talked to each other and Mychal comforted her when their father, usually in a drunken rage, would verbally, and sometimes physically, abuse her. Her mother did not partake in the abuse, but only acted as a bystander. George always told her that she was a worthless, good for nothing, mistake who will amount to nothing. Mychal always told her exactly the opposite and would wipe the streams of tears from her face. He was her rock, someone she could hold on to. On the farm she didn't cry as much as she used to. She enjoyed being separated from her alcohol-reeking father.

Mychal waltzed into the cabin, seemingly unfazed by the extreme heat and manual labor. "Santana, I'm back from the fields." he called out into the dimly lit cabin. The only light source was the sunset creeping in through the one window they had. Mychal grabbed a rag from the pocket of his overalls, took off his flat cap, and wiped the sweat from his face and neck.

Santana appeared in the doorway, her thick curly hair clipped on to the top her head.

"Mrs. Pierce gave us some of their leftover rolls from dinner. They're sitting on the stove if you're hungry. And there's a pitcher of water on the table," Santana said. Mychal set his cap back on his head, took the rolls and plopped down onto one of the rickety wooden chairs that surrounded the beaten-up wooden dining table. He poured water into a tin cup, and drank large loud gulps." Careful with the chairs, Big Mike. We're lucky the Pierces gave them to us instead of throwing them away. And don't drink so much water. It hasn't rained in a while here," she scolded him. She set an example for him by gingerly sitting in the chair across from him. He rolled his eyes and laughed at his sister's gentleness with the old chair

"It's okay Santana, there are three other chairs. Plus, I fixed plenty of furniture at home. And besides, we've gone days without rain before. I'm sure there's a storm brewing just waiting to pour down on us." Mychal said while scarfing down biscuits, and draining his tin cup dry.

"You may be right about the rain, but the difference with the furniture, Mychal, is that you don't have any furniture-fixing money here. Almost all our pay is sent to dad. What we do get to keep is only just enough to allow us to survive," Santana argued. Her nose wrinkled and her eyebrow twitched in disgust at her own mention of her father.

"Santana, think of coming out here more like a vacation from Dad," Mychal said in response to the disgust that crossed Santana's face.

"Right, because coming all the way out into the middle of nowhere away from all familiar surroundings, taking care of a bunch of stupid animals, and being a maid to a rich white family is my exact definition of paradise," Santana said, spitting out sarcasm with every word.

"C'mon Santana. It's not that bad. Why don't you try to make friends with the Pierce's eldest daughter. She seems nice. She greets me every morning when I head to the crops." Mychal said with an encouraging smile.

"I don't know. You know I'm not good at making friends," Santana explained. She really only had one friend back home. A friend who barely tolerated Santana. Even though she had her brother, Santana usually felt lonely.

"Give it a shot, Santana," Mychal said, walking over to her. "Just try to make the most of everything while we're here," he half-said and half-yawned. Mychal left her at the old wooden table and went to bed.

Santana was now alone with her thoughts. She walked back to her own bed and layed down on the uncomfortable ropes. She thought about the eldest Pierce girl, reviewing her for a possible friendship. Santana decided that the next time the girl spoke to her, she would try to be as friendly as possible. For Santana Lopez, that wasn't much.


	2. Chapter 2

Brittany awoke to sunlight flooding in through her bedroom window. The smells of her mother's cooking drifted in from the kitchen. Brittany lept off of her comfy cotton-stuffed mattress and headed for the kitchen. Her mother, Beatrice, was cooking on the brand new electric stove that Brittany's father, Wilbur, had just bought. Beatrice had a tall, slim build, similar to her daughter's. Her dirty blonde hair was twisted into a tight bun on her head.

"Morning, Brittany," Beatrice said with a smile. She looked up from the stove at Brittany for barely a second, before returning to her eggs.

"Good morning, Mom," Brittany replied. "What are you cooking? It smells really good," she said, licking her lips.

"Eggs and sausage," Beatrice said. "I would've made biscuits, but I didn't have enough water for the batter." She handed Brittany a plate with two eggs and two sausage links. Brittany took the plate and sat down at the cherry wood dining table Wilbur brought from New York. Beatrice went over to the window and looked up at the sky, hoping to see at least a couple clouds. The skies were barren. "Brittany, when you're done with breakfast I need you to go feed the chickens. Your brother caught a cold, so he won't be able to do his duties for the next few days." she added.

"Okay, but how did he catch a cold here? It's always super hot outside," Brittany said in between bites of her sausage. Her mother shook her head.

"Brittany, people can get colds no matter the temperature. Germs don't care what the weather's like," Beatrice said with a small tinge of annoyance in her voice.

Brittany finished off her breakfast and handed the plate back to her mother. She quickly changed into floral-printed feedsack dress her mother made. Wilbur had bought Brittany many designer clothes from New York, but she often preferred the homemade clothes to the store bought ones. However, she did replace the plain white buttons with shiny silver-colored ones. Brittany didn't care for the most of the ritzy things her father often brought from the city.

Brittany walked out the door of her house and headed straight to the chicken coop. She grabbed the bucket of chicken feed from the barn and scattered the assorted grains across the ground. She made sure that the adult chickens didn't take food away from the baby chicks. Brittany had a mothering quality that made her want to care for anything smaller or weaker.

While spreading the feed across the ground, she noticed the hispanic girl who was hired as one of the farm hands, walking towards pen where the cows were kept. Brittany racked her brain for the name of the girl, but couldn't recall it. She put the bucket of chicken feed back in the barn, and went over to the ethnic girl. When Brittany reached her she was sitting on a short, wooden stool getting ready to milk the large brown cow in front of her. She was wearing a feedsack dress too, but hers looked old and worn. It didn't have a floral pattern on it like Brittany's, it was plain beige.

"Hi," Brittany said. Santana jumped and accidentally kicked over the bucket she was about to squirt milk into, the blonde had startled her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Brittany said with an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm Brittany," she said as she stuck out her hand. Santana looked up at her with a hint of confusion on her face. Brittany was surprised when she saw her face. She didn't think that a girl as pretty as her should be working on a dirty farm out in the middle of nowhere.

"Hi, I know who you are. And it's okay, at least I hadn't started milking yet," Santana said, rising from her sitting position. "My name is Santana, nice too meet you," she said, grasping Brittany's hand and giving it a firm shake. They both smiled at each other, an awkward silence quickly seeping between them. Brittany eyed the girl up and down. Santana couldn't be that much older than her, she thought. She seemed young to be hired as a farmhand and maid.

"How old are you?" Brittany said, breaking the silence.

"Just turned seventeen," Santana replied, putting on the best, friendly smile she could manage.

"Really? Me too," Brittany said enthusiastically, "Maybe we should get together sometime or something. Theres not any people at all out here, besides my family."

"I can't. I have a job to do on this farm," Santana said matter-of-factly. "Sorry."

"Well, then maybe I can help you," Brittany said. "I could help you with the stuff you do. I could help you milk the cows and clean the house and-"

"Thanks, Brittany, but you don't need to," Santana said cutting her off. "I'm sure you've got your own responsibilities to do around here."

"Actually, I don't have many. All I have to do is prepare lunch and help my mother wash the clothes then hang them to dry," Brittany said. "It doesn't take long now because my dad just bought us a really fancy washing machine. Really all I have to do make lunch and help hang the clothes. So, I'm basically free all afternoon." she added.

"Okay, well then you can just accompany me while I work," Santana said. "Letting you help me would mean that I would be slacking off and I don't allow laziness." Santana always felt conscious of the amount of effort she put into her work and the quality of her work, no matter what she was doing. It was one of the effects of never being good enough for her father.

"Sure," Brittany said. "I've got to go start preparing lunch now," Brittany turned and headed towards the pen's exit. "You're very pretty by the way," she added just as she was about to leave.

"Thanks. You're not too bad lookin' yourself. So long," Santana called out to Brittany. She tried to mask the wide grin spreading on her face, but failed to do so. Brittany returned the smile and left. Santana's eyes were locked on Brittany, before she turned a cornered and left Santana's line of sight.

Compliments didn't come Santana's way very often, so she couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the morning. Brittany's subtle compliment temporarily boosted Santana's self-esteem and made her farm work much more bearable. She surprised herself when she realized that she was really looking forward to her next meeting with the blonde. In fact, she missed her, even though they had just met. Little did she know that the blonde was missing her too.


End file.
